First Meetings
by ravinraven12
Summary: Before the series begins, Detective Inspector Lestrade meets Sherlock Holmes for the first time in drug den while on the hunt for a killer. Reference to drug abuse. This will be a multi-chapter fic centering on their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

So this is my idea on how Lestrade and Sherlock met, featuring a newbie!Donovan, high Sherlock and unimpressed Mycroft. I'm going to say this is a prequel to 'Hello John'. Enjoy!

* * *

"All right," Detective Inspector Lestrade said, strapping on his vest, looking out over the faces who were waiting for his instructions. "The man we are looking for is said to be inside, use precaution, it is a drug den, the people inside are going to be unpredictable. Donovan, you're with me," he said, looking at the younger woman who nodded. "You going to be ok with this?" he asked when she made her way to his side.

"I'll be fine sir," she replied and Greg bit back the urge to tell her not to call him that, he hated being called 'sir' made him feel older than his forty years.

"All right, stay close and keep an eye out," he said to her before turning back to the others, "my team will head in the front, team two side entrance, team three take the back." He received a nod from the leaders of each team before he headed towards the front. They made their way through the den quickly enough, most of the crack heads and stoners gave no fight when they were handcuffed and set against the wall.

"Is that all of them?" Greg asked, looking over the twenty young men and women sat in front of him, either staring off into space or glaring at the police officers balefully.

"Believe so," a younger officer said nodding to him before he moved forward to try to talk to the residents of the building.

"Sir," Donovan said, coming in from the other room, "I found another room," she said, "doesn't look like we've swept it." Greg sighed and waived a hand for her to lead the way. The door was stuck and took them both pushing their shoulders against it to get it open. Inside was set up like a lab, a long table was set up under the only window on the opposite wall, filled with beakers and Bunsen burners Greg stepped into the room and swept it, finding nothing but the table and experiments there. Donovan cried out as she stepped inside, a figure detached itself from the wall and struck her from behind, causing her to fall to the floor. Greg turned, baton in hand, ready to strike the man down, but suddenly the man pitched forward to reveal another man behind him, brandishing what looked like a metal bar.

"Put it down," Greg cried, moving towards the second man slowly, reaching for his taser gun.

"Oh please," the voice was low and sounded bored, "if I wanted you dead Detective Inspector, I would not have knocked out your suspect."

"What?" Greg asked, surprised.

"Peter Anders, twenty-four, prime suspect in the murder of three young women, you can tell he's your murder due to lack of hygiene, he left dirt on the bodies, dug in to their skin, but no other clues."

"Who are you and how the hell did you know that?" he demanded and the other man, who was freakishly tall with high cheekbones and blood-shot eyes smirked.

"I observed Detective Inspector Lestrade, and the name is Sherlock Holmes," he said and proceeded to pass out.

* * *

Detective Inspector Lestrade strode into the hospital and inquired about Sherlock Holmes being and was directed to the third floor. He knew the name, everyone at Scotland Yard knew the name of Sherlock Holmes, and it irked most there that he had technically 'caught' their suspect. Over the years, they had received calls from the man with clues pertaining to cases that turned out to be right and led to many arrests. Greg had never dealt with the man himself but had heard about him, and though others found the man to be infuriating, Greg had to admit that he was good and did help, even if he was an asshole about it.

When he asked at the nurse's station, the woman there gave him such a nasty glare he took a step back from her, afraid she might hit him.

"He's in room 314," she said, pointing down the hallway to his left and he thanked her before leaving hastily. As he approached he noticed a man standing in the room, he was dressed in a suit and leaning on an umbrella, watching Sherlock as he slept, a woman was in the corner on her phone.

"Can I help you?" he asked entering the room, glancing between the two people and the man turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.

"No thank you," he said, his voice clipped and dismissive.

"You can't be in here," Greg tried again and the other man stood straight and turned towards him.

"I have every right to be in here Detective Inspector," the man said, his eyes glancing over him and quickly dismissing him.

"Leave off Mycroft," a voice from the bed said and the two men turned towards it to find Sherlock watching them through half-lidded eyes.

"But my dear brother," 'Mycroft' said in a condescending tone, "I do so worry about you."

"Surprised you didn't send one of your goons down here to check on me," Sherlock replied before glancing at the woman, "or at least by themselves."

"You end up in hospital after who knows how long living in that dump, of course I came to check on you."

"It was an experiment," the man on the bed defended himself and Greg could almost hear the elder brother roll his eyes.

"It always is Sherlock," he replied snidely. "I've signed you up for rehab and will have an apartment waiting for you when you get out."

"I'm not going to rehab Mycroft," Sherlock spat, "it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Mycroft scoffed, "you had enough drugs in your system to kill five men; you will be released in to my care, go to rehab and stay clean."

"Or what?" Sherlock challenged and Mycroft smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile.

"I don't think I have to elaborate on that point, do you?" he asked, glancing at Greg out of the corner of his eye and Sherlock scowled. "I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up," he went on and turned on his heel before exiting the room, the woman right behind him.

"It wasn't enough to kill five men," Sherlock called after him, "I was monitoring my intake," he said, turning back to Greg who was still standing by the door. "What can I do for you Detective Inspector?"

"I came to thank you," Greg replied, moving further into the room and Sherlock looked surprised, "you saved my life as well as my colleague's, thought it only right to come in person and thank you."

"No need," Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders, "did you arrest him then?"

"Yeah, trial is next month."

"Good," the other man replied.

"How did you know?" Greg asked, wanting to know.

"Like I told you at the den, his hygiene," Sherlock replied as if it was the most obvious answer in the world and sighed when Greg just stared back blankly. "The three women had been strangled, the killer was wearing gloves, but there was a certain kind of dirt left behind, but no other clues, no fingerprints, no hairs, nothing, just dirt."

"Right," Greg agreed, still not getting it.

"He was an obsessive hand washer, but rarely cleaned anything else, living there you don't get access to a shower regularly but he always had hand sanitizer. The dirt came from the beach just outside the den, there was a chemical only found in that area of beach, he tended to sleep outside unless it was too cold. The dirt came from his dirty hair."

"How did you get a sample of the dirt we found on the bodies?" Greg demanded and Sherlock shrugged again but refused to give his source. "Alright, look," Greg went on, pulling the folder out that he had brought with him, "can you take a look at this case and give me your opinion?"

"Are you serious?" the man on the bed asked, sitting up, interest perked.

"You're known around Scotland Yard, mostly as a pain in our ass, but also as someone who has a knack for solving cases. Pisses most of us off honestly, but I'm stumped and impressed with what you've done so far. One condition though," he said, pulling the file out of reach when the other man reached for it.

"Oh, what now?" he demanded.

"You get clean and stay that way, go to rehab, do what you need to do because I could get in a lot of trouble just showing you this, if they know I'm showing it to a junkie, it'll be my job, and you're not worth that to me." They stared at each other for a long time, both weighing each other up.

"Deal," Sherlock said and reached for the file, Greg letting him take it this time.

* * *

**A/N:** Sherlock and Greg have an interesting relationship, Greg trusts him enough to put his job on the line for him over and over, I mean I can't imagine that calling a suspect to let him know that you're coming to arrest him is common practice and I've always wondered what made Lestrade so loyal to him, so I started my own idea. I'm going to expand on this, probably write a few more to where Lestrade comes to trust him that much and I'm working on some sequels to 'Hello John' involving John actually forgiving Sherlock and Sherlock and Mary bonding.


	2. First Body

Ok, so I've decided to make a second chapter, I was going to do this individually, but since they are linked, they're different stories but all along the same lines of Sherlock and Lestrade getting to know each other and building their relationship to where it's at now. Enjoy!

* * *

He knew he's going to regret this, really he does, but he needs an outside pair of eyes to take in the crime scene, find the clues that he and his team have missed. Glancing back at his team, he turns back to his phone and scrolls down to the 'H' and presses the call button when he gets to the right one.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," comes a voice after the fourth ring.

"Holmes," Greg replied, rubbing his face, still debating with himself, even as he says the words that will change their lives, "I need you at a crime scene."

* * *

Sherlock can't contain the grin on his face as he leaves his flat, passing the drunk on the stairs who watches him wearily and ignores the people who give him odd looks. His first crime scene, well not technically his first, but he knew that Lestrade wouldn't be happy to find out he hadn't stuck to just case files.

It's been six months since he met the DI, three months since he'd been out of rehab and two months since he'd moved out of the flat his brother had set up for him to a run down boarding house on the other side of London. Mycroft had been furious of course, not being able to watch his every move, but Sherlock didn't mind, there at the boarding house, no one cared about the smells coming from your flat. On one hand, most of the smells that wafted out smelled better than the people living around him, and on the other, he knew he was raising his brother's blood pressure by living there.

He hailed a cab and gave the address, still grinning like a loon, he was going to be on the scene, they were going to actually hear what he had to say, there was a fresh body waiting for him, he was excited.

* * *

Greg was on his third cigarette by the time Sherlock stepped out of the cab, a maniacal grin on his face and he had to close his eyes and count to ten before approaching the other man. The man had hung up before he had given him the address, but here he was. He had suspected that Sherlock had some way of listening in on the police, but he wasn't sure, until now, he just didn't know how he did it.

"Holmes," he said and the other man turned towards him, the grin still in place, it was a frightening sight, he'd never seen the other man do more than smile at most, he smirked almost all of the time. "Do you think you can tone down the excitement, just a bit?" he demanded.

"Why?" the other man asked, "this is exciting Lestrade, you get to see me in action," he went on and started towards the house where the police officers were standing around but the other mans hand on his arm stopped him.

"A few rules first," Lestrade said, and removed his hand when Sherlock looked down at it, "don't talk to anyone, I don't need you pissing my people off, don't touch anything and for the love of God, wipe that grin off your face."

"Why?" Sherlock demanded, the grin hadn't gone away but it had shrunk some.

"Because, the only people who walk into a crime scene with a grin like that are psychopaths and serial killers, they might arrest you on the spot thinking you did it."

"Have you had many killers come back to their own crime scenes?" Sherlock asked dubiously.

"Well, no," Greg replied and Sherlock shook his head.

"Then how do you know a killer would walk in with a grin? In all likely hood, he'd try to blend in, act like one of your people, not draw attention to himself."

"Right," Greg said flatly, "also, don't tell them your name, they might arrest you on principle."

"Is there anything else I should not do?" Sherlock drawled and Greg glared at him, really regretting this now.

"No, that's it," he said and Sherlock nodded before turning to walk to the house. "Holmes," Greg yelled and the other man stopped but didn't turn.

"What Lestrade?" he asked, sounding irritated and Greg moved until he was standing next to the other man.

"Can we at least pretend that you don't know what you know, that I brought you in and you _don't_ know where you're going?" Sherlock turned to stare at him for a long moment before he waved a hand in front of him and Greg stepped forward, leading the way to the house. They walked past several officers, most glancing at him curiously before turning away again and in through the front door.

"Here, put these on," Greg said, handing him a blue, plastic jumpsuit and gloves.

"I brought my own," Sherlock said, pulling out a pair of plastic gloves and received a blank stare in return. "Serial killer?" he asked and the DI let out a breath.

"Serial killer," he responded, glad that no one was close enough to have seen the interaction. Sherlock stuffed the gloves he had brought back into his pocket and took the ones Greg held out. "Remember, don't say anything to anyone," he repeated as they headed further in to the house.

"Who's this?" a voice asked from their left and Sherlock turned to find a young woman with dark skin and dark frizzy hair looking at him curiously.

"I'm... John," Sherlock replied, realizing that Lestrade had moved further in to the house without realizing that he had stopped to look at a few pictures.

"Just John?" she asked.

"Smith, John Smith," Sherlock replied.

"And what are you doing here? Are you lost? This is a crime scene you know," she went on, not unkindly, but not inviting either.

"He's with me Donovan," Greg said, having realized quickly that Sherlock wasn't with him and had rushed back the way he came to find him.

"Oh, sorry sir," the Donovan said, nodding to Sherlock before walking off.

"Come on, don't lag behind," Greg said and turned to walk away.

"You don't like her," Sherlock observed.

"What?" the DI asked, shooting an incredulous look over his shoulder, "of course I like her, she's my junior officer."

"You flinched when she talked to you," Sherlock pointed out.

"I did not," Greg protested.

"You did, is it because she's smarter than you? Or is it because she's a woman? Are you attracted to her?" Sherlock stopped quickly when the man rounded on him, a finger in his face.

"Don't pull that shit on me Hol- Smith," he said, glancing around at the other officers who were walking past them, "I don't like it when she calls me 'sir', that's all." Any response that Sherlock might have given was lost when they stepped in to what looked to be a master bedroom.

In the middle of the room a man was hanging from a noose tied to one of the beams that ran the length of the room. He was naked and swayed slightly, his toes brushing the bedspread of the king sized bed pushed against the wall. Sherlock felt excitement rise up in him again, and almost stepped forward but glanced at the DI, not wanting to piss him off again.

"Go ahead," the other man said, jutting his chin towards the body, "show me what you can do."

Sherlock didn't need another invitation, so he moved into the room and up to the bed, noticing the clothes folded neatly just under the pillow that was on the left side of the bed. On the side table next to the bed, there was a set of keys and a leather wallet. Picking up the wallet, he sifted through it before placing it back where it was. Picking up the keys, he stared at them, before also returning them tot he table. Glancing up, he spotted the door to the bathroom was open and stepped inside, taking in all that was around him.

"Aren't you going to examine the body?" Lestrade asked, having followed him into the bathroom.

"He's dead," Sherlock responded with a shrug, "what else would you like me to examine about him?" Lestrade opened his mouth to respond but just then, another officer came up to his side and whispered something in his ear.

"I'll be right back," he said to Sherlock, "remember what I said." Sherlock waved him off and went back to examining the bathroom. It was mostly tidy, with the usual toiletries about the place, he opened the medicine cabinet and drawers before entering the bedroom once again. Moving around the bed, he was kneeling on the carpet to examine it when he heard someone walk up behind him.

"It was the wife," he said, turning but found that it wasn't Lestrade behind him like he thought it would be.

"What?" the man who was there asked, he had dark hair and a thin frame and an air of haughty arrogance about him. "What do you mean it was the wife, and who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Anderson," Lestrade's voice broke in and the man in front of Sherlock looked up, "he's with me."

"Well who is he?" the other man demanded, "and what is he doing in my crime scene?"

"Your crime scene?" Sherlock asked, knowing that he would never like this man, "are you saying you're the culprit?"

"What are you talking about?" Anderson rounded on him at the same time that Lestrade hissed 'Smith' at him.

"Anderson, he's a consultant I brought in, I wanted his opinion, so leave off, Smith, what were you saying about the wife?'

"The wife did it," Sherlock restated and ignored Andersen's snort of disbelief.

"How is that possible?" he asked, "she weighs one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet."

"How would you know?" Sherlock asked, rounding on him, but Lestrade pulled him back around.

"The wife Smith," he said in a warning tone.

"He was having an affair, she found out, she killed him for it."

"Based on what?!" Anderson cried and Sherlock looked at him again but Lestrade forced his focus on him.

"Based on what?" he asked and Sherlock sighed before pulling away from the DI and picking up the wallet.

"There are two gym memberships in there," he said, tossing it to Lestrade.

"So?" Lestrade asked, looking at the cards that proved that the dead man had the two memberships.

"Who do you know that has two gym memberships? Most gym's are universal, you can use one card for any of their facilities, whether it be here, or Antarctica. They are from two different gym's, one is a mainstream gym, the other," he said, holding up his phone which he had used to look up the second gym, "is an all male gym."

"So you're saying that he was having an affair with a man?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock nodded.

"Just because he goes to an all male gym, doesn't mean he was having an affair," Anderson broke in and Sherlock took a deep breath.

"Smith, concentrate," Lestrade said and Sherlock turned back to the side table and picked up the keys.

"There are three extra keys on here," he said holding each up as he went through them, "house key, car key, what is probably his office key and two others. This key," he said holding up the smallest one, "probably belongs to a locker at the gym. This key," he said holding up the last, "is probably to another flat, maybe it's where they go when they are together. It's possibly his partner's home, maybe a flat they got together, purely for that purpose, who knows."

"How can you possibly know which key goes to which?" Anderson demanded.

"The house key," he said, holding it up, "well worn, has wear around the teeth, used all the time, the brand of the key has been worn down: house key. Car key, obvious," he said, pointing out the car's make on it. "Office key, worn, but not as much as the house key, made by the Klausson key company, a company that makes keys only used in office settings. Gym key, something I think your tiny little brain will understand, and what I assume is the flat key, new, maybe three months old,"

"So you're saying that he's been having this affair for three months?" Lestrade asked before Anderson could say anything.

"No, it's been going on for years," Sherlock replied, walking in to the bathroom, the others following him, they had attracted several of the other officers while they were standing about and they were all curious now.

"But you just said," Lestrade started but Sherlock shot him a look.

"They got the flat three months ago, they've been sleeping together for years," he said, finishing at the medicine cabinet, pulling out two deodorants from behind the mirror.

"Why would the wife do it though?" Anderson snapped on and Sherlock sighed and looked at the officers staring back, biting back the snide comment he wanted to make for Lestrade's sake.

"Are you married?" he demanded of the other man.

"Yes, why?"

"Surprising," Sherlock muttered to himself, receiving a hateful glare from Anderson and a warning one from Lestrade. "If you found out your wife was having an affair and you gave her a second chance, and she swore she wouldn't do it again, that she'd call it off what if you found out she was lying? You come to find out later that she is still being unfaithful, in fact she never stopped, that she's meeting with her lover at a flat they share, what would you do?"

"I wouldn't kill her," Anderson cried, sounding offended that Sherlock would think that of him.

"You don't know that, if it were in the heat of the moment, you might snap, beat her within an inch of her life, or hang her from the rafters," he said pointing to the body in the other room. He glanced at Lestrade when the other man cleared his throat and one thing ran through his head 'Serial Killer' and he nodded back in understanding.

"But how did she find out?" Donovan asked from the front of the group and Sherlock held up the two deodorants. "Deodorant?"

"He brought his lover's deodorant home."

"Maybe he bought it," Lestrade pointed out but Sherlock shook his head.

"He was trying to hide his affair, if you're hiding an affair, you don't change anything about you, you buy the same deodorant, same aftershave or perfume, same toothpaste, anything to avoid suspicion. He wouldn't have bought this, especially if there was a chance she would recognize it as the other mans."

"Why keep it then?" Donovan asked.

"Why indeed," Sherlock said, placing the deodorants on the counter once more and pushing his way out of the bathroom.

"Sherlock, the deodorants," Lestrade called after him for an explanation, not realizing that he had used Sherlock's real name.

"He kept it, obviously, not sure why, maybe for sentimental value, who knows," Sherlock said, going back to the side of the bed where he had been before, examining the carpet.

"He kept deodorant for sentimental value?" Anderson sneered.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, popping his head up as he crawled around the bed, examining the carpet, "people do stupid things when in love. Perhaps they had a fight, or took a break, but either way, his affair with his lover didn't end when he told her it would. Where is the note?" he asked, standing once again and looking around.

"What note?" Lestrade asked.

"His suicide note, if he committed suicide, where is his note?"

"He didn't leave one, at least one that we found," Donovan answered this time.

"What kind of person doesn't leave a note?" Sherlock demanded.

"Holmes, there is no note, not every suicidal person leaves a note."

"You leave a note," Sherlock said very seriously and Lestrade saw something slide behind his eyes but it was gone a second later as he turned away. "No note, no suicide," he declared a moment later, "when do I get to examine the body?" he asked, turning back to the officers there.

"You don't," Lestrade responded and Sherlock looked horrified at the idea that he wouldn't get access to it.

"How did she pull it off, she's too small to be able to pull a man almost twice her size over that beam," Donovan pointed out.

"Do I have to do your job for you?" Sherlock snapped, cranky now that he had been denied the opportunity to examine the dead man.

"Holmes," Lestrade said in a low voice and the other man shot him an exasperated look.

"She is also having an affair, there's a man at her gym that she's been sleeping with, probably convinced him to do it. Go ask her," he said and went to step out of the room.

"How can you possibly know that?" Anderson demanded and Sherlock stopped with a huff.

"There are pictures downstairs of her and this man, if you look closely, you will see that they are more than friends. Confront her and she'll crack, I promise." With that, he walked out of the house and stood outside before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

"You're Sherlock Holmes," a voice said from behind him and he turned to find Donovan there.

"How did you guess?" he asked, knowing that Lestrade had slipped up and said his name several times.

"Lestrade called you Sherlock and then Holmes, not too hard to put the pieces together."

"I'm sure Anderson won't get it," Sherlock said, holding out his cigarette pack which she waved away with a snort.

"He's not a bad guy, he's just territorial, especially when he thinks someone is trying to do his job for him."

"Well if he could do his job, there wouldn't be people like me doing it for him."

"You really are as good as they say you are," she said, sounding a bit awed.

"They?" he asked curiously, wanting to know who his fans at Scotland Yard were.

"Well, when I say 'they' I mean Lestrade, you've got him convinced you're the best you know," she said and glanced back when she heard her name called. "Just don't let him down, yeah?" Sherlock 'hmmed' as she walked away.

* * *

Received 11:58 pm  
'You were right, wife set it up, cracked in under an hour.' -Lestrade

Sent: 11:59pm  
'Of course I was. When is my next case?' -SH

Received: 12:04am  
'Anderson went above my head, I'm not supposed ask you for your help anymore' -Lestrade

Sent: 12:09 am  
'They didn't know before, they don't need to know now.' -SH

Received: 1:47am  
'I'll bring it by tomorrow.' -Lestrade

* * *

So Lestrade and Sherlock have their own 'not good' phrase, also, Donovan is kinda nice, I figured at one point, they might have been close, there was too much pain in her voice when she said that Sherlock always lets them down, or I read it that way anyway, so I'm going to play on that. And though I love what they have done with Anderson since the new series began, he's a jerk now because that's what he was in the beginning. I think I'm going to introduce him to Molly next.


	3. Missing Scene from 'A Study in Pink'

So I found myself wanting to write out the conversation that went on between Mike Stamford and Sherlock the morning before Mike brought John to meet him, so I did. Not part of my 'Sherlock and Lestrade' stories, but I thought it would fit in because it takes place before the series began. Tell me what you think please.

* * *

"Morning Sherlock," Mike Stamford said, walking into the lab and hanging up his coat, "how was your weekend? Didn't spend it here did you?" he went on, knowing that the man tended to do that.

Sherlock liked Mike Stamford, he was a nice man, didn't bother him, other than saying hello in the mornings when he came in if Sherlock was there or occasionally inviting him out to lunch. Mike allowed him access to the labs when others denied him and he had taken up residence in one of the labs that Mike ran. Mike liked having him there, he liked to introduced his students to the eccentric man, see how they reacted to him and even got to help him on the occasional case.

"No," Sherlock said without looking up from where he was studying his microscope, "I was moving."

"Oh, so you found a place," Mike said with a grin, he had heard all about Sherlock's search for a place closer to central London over the last two months.

"Yes," the other man went on, glancing up briefly when Molly Hooper entered with a sample for him, "Thank you Molly," he said dismissively and Mike watched as she hovered for a moment before turning and walking away. He shook his head, he could tell the younger woman was smitten with Sherlock but the man did not return any of her affections and was oblivious to her.

"Close to where you were looking?" Mike went on when Molly had gone.

"Very close, rent's a bit high though," Sherlock said, picking up the sample's and putting them under the microscope.

"Why take it then?" Mike asked curiously.

"I know the landlady," Sherlock said, again focusing on the machine.

"You could get a flatshare," Mike pointed out and Sherlock shot him an incredulous look.

"Can you think of anyone who would want to live with me?" Mike laughed and shook his head.

"I don't know," he said, shrugging, "you could find someone who is deaf, blind and has no sense of taste or smell."

"That would be ideal," Sherlock said, sitting back as if thinking of how he could find someone who fit that description.

"Well I need to get to it," Mike said, heading for the door, "see you later then." Sherlock grunted in response and went back to what he was doing.

* * *

Hours later, Mike entered the lab and found Sherlock about to exit it, he looked like he had just come in from the cold, his jacket buttoned and scarf around his neck

"Sherlock," he called as he reached for his coat and received a 'hm' in response, "I'm heading to lunch, would you like to join me?" He asked every day, though the other man never accepted and Mike always offered to bring something back, though this was usually also declined.

"Do I ever?" the other man asked and Mike smiled.

"One of these days I'll get you to say yes," he replied as he pulled his coat on and Sherlock turned to one of the desks and picked up a riding crop. "Oh," Mike said, seeing it for what it was "new corpse?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, swishing it through the air a couple of times, "just in."

"Well, enjoy yourself," Mike replied, shaking his head as he left, following the taller man out of the room.

"I plan to," he heard from behind him as he turned to leave the hospital.


End file.
